I am
now on the general population side of the beach. Not right by the
entrance, but where people start to fan out (as told, 800 meters from
the entrance on the right.) I am in the so-called gay section mixed
with few breeders. I am all set again, ready to once and for all
enjoy the rest of this day on the shore. I am actually enjoying
people watching, from the canon of beauty to the beach whale… Wait
a minute, how can this man walk around with those, he must be the
understudy for Big Ben when the bells are jammed!!! The mind starts
to wander, I make up stories about my beach neighbors, I now have a
banker interacting with a serial killer sitting next to a closet case
with 11 kids. The one coming out of the sea is definitely a flight
attendant staying in Montpellier between two flights: his right arm
is not moving when walking as if hauling an imaginary carry on bag,
force of habits I suppose.
I
also notice a man heading to the secluded back of the beach, he
stops, turns around for a brief moment while stroking his crotch and
off he goes. Less than minute later he is followed by a hunk and then
a third. It is indeed the gay section of the beach a mating call
ritual followed by a hookup in the bushes. I hope they will be safe
and wish them a good time. A minute or two later, the latter returns
to his towel (tail between his legs… sorry, I couldn’t resist) oh
well better luck next time. Meanwhile the few straight families do
not suspect thing.
Wayne
and I met on labor day 2000, the unofficial end of the summer. Came
June we tried our best to spend most of our days off on the beach.
The art gallery I worked for closed on Sundays and Mondays. Wayne
was working at BBnB and managed to have at least his Mondays off. At
that time we did not spend much time in NJ. Long Island was our
playground. The Pines in Fire Island if we had two consecutive days.
Johns Beach or Robert Moses for our day trips. On one of our first
escapade on John’s beach, while laying down on the hot sand, our
eyes met, we both smiled, and something sparked, we ran for the dunes
while giggling like school girls. As we tried to find a secluded
spot we passed a hunk in a black speedo, he smiled and followed us
for a moment. I pretended I didn’t noticed and we kept going to
find our own private cozy spot. Ten years later, for a reason or
another, we started talking about that day when one of us mentioned
“the hunk in the black speedo.” As it happened we both noticed
him while pretending we did not. We laughed so hard and shouted in
unison; “we could have had a threesome, he was so fucking hot,”
even though we both knew (from our previous experience with our
exes;) as much as it sounded fun at the time, the outcome could have
been disastrous for our couple. Later on “The hunk in he black
speedo” popped up man times in our conversations, either to make
fun at one another or to keep a healthy fantasy alive.
Half
an hour later the two protagonists re-emerge from the Maguelone
version of the “Enchanted Forrest”*. The are talking and
laughing, they merges their beach accouterments together, seat on the
same towel and hold hands. Did a couple form? Did destiny worked its
magic and created a love nest for years to come? At least they make
me happy, I smile at them, they probably don’t notice me. I
imagine them ten years from now, married, happy as a clam,
reminiscing about the day they met at the beach on a hot sunny summer
day,”Do you remember that guy who followed us in the dunes?” “No
I don’t, but I do recall the man with the straw hat smiling at us
when we came back...”
*Famous
wooded cruising area in Fire Island behind the dunes, located between
Cheery Grove and The Pines (make sure to check for ticks afterward,
Wayne could tell you a story….)
No comments:
Post a Comment